My Mess

Probably becoming a bit too sensitive on the subject.  But, sometimes, when tired at 1 am, or when patience has completely evaporated, the frustration rises along with the sensitivity. Ever watch TV dramas? Much emotion, mostly coming from pain, is thrown around. What else is thrown around is the "He did that to me!" verbiage. Anyone else notice this? This is not just on TV, you know. One of my soldiers likes to remind me that I am "killing" him when presented with a slew of questions not so easily answered. The other accused me of breaking his heart. The girl on TV, well, she's just raving about how much of a wretch he is for doing some awful thing to her. And, yes, of course, there is a plethora of love songs, which, I may venture out and say includes 99% of all songs, where the singer is either elated that his love is making him feel so high, or her love has ruined, destroyed, and otherwise devastated her life, pieces of which have been scattered all over the map with little hope of restoring themselves to the previously perfect arrangement.

I wonder what Eleanor Roosevelt would say to this deep-seeded and deep-seated cultural phenomenon which, through careful description depicted above,  has obliterated the law of self-responsibility. Here is one of hers: "One's philosophy is not best expressed in words; it is expressed in the choices one makes... and the choices we make are ultimately our responsibility."

There really isn't much more to say on the topic. Somehow, the frustration has dissolved into sweetness. The kind that, if tasted, will nourish the lucky winner. Though, here is a worthwhile statement, in my not-so humble opinion: I am not doing anything to anybody, just as nobody is doing anything to me. We are all doing it all to ourselves. It's time that we woke up to the fact that we are the sole creators of joy and misery in our own lives. We choose to see or sleep or sleep walk. I would like to find different writers for those TV dramas. It seems like the perfect time to submerge our victimhood into clear waters, and resurface with a new tool belt covered in sparkling arrows pointing inward, to the heart of us. And the new conversation would start with a little something like..."Damn it, I made a mess. Again." Followed by..."And it's ok. It is all ok."